Revenge is Sweet, But I Didn't Get It
by AcidicAngel
Summary: I'm going to murder the person who destroyed my future. I'm going to eradicate him, and he will never walk this earth again. At least, that was my plan... before he fed me with Veritaserum... (The rating is temporary, it'll probably change as the story progresses.) Reviews are much appreciated :)
1. Chapter 1

That night, when compared to other nights, would definitely be regarded as one of the most eerie ones yet. A faint gust of wind blew through the dark forest, gently rustling the leaves. The sound produced was faint, yet effective in masking the slightest of sounds, like muffled footsteps, or the swishing of a cloak.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic wreaked havoc, to say in the least. Wizards and witches tripped over their robes, in a hurry to get from one department to another. Their wands were brandished in their hands. Perhaps a part of them felt that they ought to be poised for battle, but each individual knew in their hearts that the battle was already over. There was not anything else that they could do about their current situation.

The centre of attention mainly revolved around the lowest level of the Ministry if Magic. It was more commonly known to everybody as the Department of Mysteries, the most secretive of all the departments. At that point, a group of highly elite wizards were gathered there, bodies pressed against each other, all of them craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the cold, lifeless body of Augustus Rookwood.

All evidences the wizards had gathered from the investigation pointed to the fact that Rookwood had been murdered by a fellow wizard. Physically, he appeared to be unscathed, and his eyes were bulging with sheer terror as he was overwhelmed by his opponent. He was disarmed before he was killed, probably so that the murderer would sustain minimal injuries. It was highly suspected that the culprit had been Lord Voldemort himself, or as he was more widely known as, You-Know-Who. After all, murder was right up his alley.

Inside the department, it became apparent that the culprit had enjoyed leaving destruction in his wake. The immaculate department now looked as pretty as Umbridge, and that was an understatement, or so Cornelius Fudge thought. The floor was littered with glass shards, probably from the orbs that were once prophecies. Now that they were destroyed, they would never be fulfilled. The most disastrous thing was that the invader had specifically targeted the time room, where the time turners lay. The culprit had destroyed every single one of the time turners. For him to be targeting something specifically like that, he had probably taken one with him…

* * *

Deep inside the forbidden forest, hidden away from the prying eyes of the Hogwarts headmaster, Dumbledore, Harry grinned broadly. It was evident that it was far from his typical benevolent grin as it bore more resemblance to a more malevolent one. Lurking in the shadows of the dark forest, Harry's face appeared to be glowing with an eerie light, giving him a menacing sort of expression. He held out his palms containing the object, into the air, his face tilted towards the silver moon. At long last, the moment had arrived. He have been waiting for this since the day he realised that he was a wizard, the day that he discovered that it was indeed Voldemort who had caused him all his misery. Currently, at the age of sixteen, he had already waited a total of five years in Hogwarts to harbour his hatred and resentment, and eventually exact his revenge on Tom Marvolo Riddle.

* * *

At precisely nine o'clock, Tom Riddle stepped into the office of Horace Slughorn with a couple other Slytherin friends. Professor Slughorn beamed at them widely, but it seemed to Tom that Slughorn's gaze lingered on him a moment more than everyone else, before drifting away again. Naturally, Slughorn greeted them as warmly as always, praising them for their various achievements, and attempting to find out if their parents were still successful. If they were not, Slughorn would probably cease to send them invitations to his gatherings. Tom knew that he would never be put in that particular situation. Firstly, he was obviously the apple of Slughorn's eyes. He also no longer had any parents to let him down, like they used to, on multiple occasions. He did not have to rely on his parents to be his ticket into the Slug Cub, unlike most of the other young wizards in this room. More importantly, he himself knew that he was a natural-born genius, undeniably brilliant and devilishly handsome, in fact, everyone saw it and there was no doubting it. Even now, he thought, as he posed a question to Slughorn, "Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Slughorn cast a reproving look at him, and replied, "Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you. I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are" The other boys, upon hearing this, cast Tom admiring looks, and Tom for his part, did not bother to conceal the smug expression on his face, as he accepted the glances.

Today was a particularly important day for Tom. He had been preparing for it for weeks and had even sent a box of crystallised pineapples in advance in hope that Slughorn could be swayed slightly at the sight of one of his favourite foods. The chances of that happening were slim, but it was worth a shot; anything to get Slughorn to tell him the information he needed.

It was already eleven when Slughorn next looked at his small golden clock. He sat up from his winged armchair with a jolt, his feet sliding off the velvet pouffe. "Goodness gracious! We had better get going eh? Don't want to get into trouble of any sort, now do we? By the way Lestrange, be sure to hand in your potions essay tomorrow, or you'll be spending every Friday this month in detention. The same goes for you, Avery." On that happy note, he hustled the boys out of his office. Tom fingered his gold ring with the Deathly Hallows engraved on it. He had deliberately dawdled behind the others, such that he would be the last one to leave the office.

"Professor, I need to ask you a question. What do you know about…Horcruxes?" Slughorn tensed visibly. He hesitated, unwilling to answer the question. Upon seeing this, Tom continued, trying to keep his voice neutral, so that it would not arouse any suspicions. "Sir, I came across this term when I was reading a book, and I did not fully understand it, it would be great if you could explain it to me. I would have thought a wizard like you… would well, be very knowledgeable about them. If you can't Sir, I would be happy to well, find another teacher, of course…" By combining the right amount of hesitation, and an element of careful flattery, Tom had managed to convince Slughorn into giving him the information he needed about Horcruxes. Well, he did posses devilish charm, and was exceptionally good at convincing others to give him what he wished for, hence, it was only natural that he was able to persuade Slughorn.

Though hesitant at the beginning, Slughorn's information proved to be invaluable. With this information, nothing could stop him from becoming practically immune to death. All that remained for him to do was to murder 7 people. He briefly wondered if that counted people who he had already murdered…

* * *

Harry's spectacles reflected the silvery beams of light, and it glistened with certain malevolence. His eyes sparkled with ominous intentions as he gazed at the object in the palm of his hand – the last-existing time turner. He would be, without a doubt, putting it to good use. Surely by ridding the world of a huge evil, he would be doing everyone a favour – even if that meant he had to kill an innocent Unspeakable. After all, everyone, excluding his faithful followers, wished for Voldemort to be dead. The world would be infinitely safer than if he were to remain alive, even with a great number of Aurors from the Ministry trying to pinpoint his position and annihilate him. Truth to be told, Harry strongly doubted that any of the highly-efficient and elite Ministry officials would be able to accomplish much if they were indeed pitched against The Dark Lord. That was precisely the reason why Harry knew that he had to travel back in time; to the time when Voldemort had not learnt of his powers and the Wizarding World, to the time when he was at his most vulnerable.

He had to travel back approximately fifty-four years, in order to find Tom Riddle at the age of sixteen – his age. That was in the vain hope that it would be easier to gain Tom's trust, though Harry doubted that Tom would ever trust anyone. If he managed to appear at the correct time, it would be before Tom even learned about Horcruxes from Slughorn, as he had seen in the pensieve. If possible, he would even work extra hard to get into the Slug Club, even if Slughorn could get rather _annoying_ sometimes; anything to get closer to Tom Riddle. With this in mind, he figured that it was now or never. He leaned against the rough bark of a tree, and held the time turner in the moonlight. "One, two, three..." Harry rapidly turned the clock back in time…

He had never used the time turner before, and its after-effects were a completely new sensation to him. His stumbled forward slightly before his knees buckled and he fell headfirst onto the grass. His vision blurred as he collapsed, his hands still gripping the time turner as he blacked out.

Harry fell onto grass of the shadowy Forbidden forest with a thud. He winced in pain as he positioned himself to get up, checking the time turner as he did so. It was none the worse for wear, fortunately; had it been destroyed, he would curse himself to the fiery pits of doom. He certainly did not want to stay in the 1950s for the rest of his days in Hogwarts. He concealed the time turner inside his robes and sprinted out of the dark forest, heading straight for Hogwarts.

Upon reaching the massive school gates, Harry involuntarily ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, in a vain attempt to neaten it. He hesitated for a second, before rapping on the door with his knuckles. He door opened a fraction, just enough for Harry to sidle through. A brightly lit entrance hall greeted him, and he gingerly walked forward, having the urge to make as little sound as possible. Upon reaching the entrance of the great hall, he stopped, wondering if he should knock. Before he could though, the door opened to admit a rather distraught-looking Professor Dippet. The headmaster brushed Harry aside distractedly and walked past him briskly. Then he paused, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Harry. He glanced at him, without a sign of any recognition, and promptly he stepped towards him.

"Who are you?" he asked, a bit brusquely. Harry inclined his head in deference, and replied smoothly, "I'm Harry Evans, sixteen years of age. I'm a new student" Dippet frowned for a millisecond, and then hurried to hide his expression. He gestured to Harry to accompany him to his office, as he felt that it was required of him to "interview" or "interrogate" the boy – depending on how what the situation became of. After all, the chances that Harry was a spy for the legendary Dark Wizard, Gellet Grindelwald were relatively high. He could not risk the safety of his students in Hogwarts, just because he was feeling compassionate to a sixteen year old boy who had appeared out of nowhere. Harry let a small smile grace his lips as he serenely followed the footsteps of the current headmaster of Hogwarts.

"So Evans, what made you enter Hogwarts at such late notice?" Dippet questioned a bit warily. Harry allowed an anguished expression to take over his features as he replied, "My parents were once wizards of high calibre… However they did not want me to become a wizard myself, fearing that it would be a dangerous thing to do." Harry paused in mid-sentence, willing Dippet to ask the question that Harry hoped he would. Dippet stared at Harry, with a mask of indifference, after a few moments, he gave an inaudible sigh, asking, "Your parents were wizards _once_, does that mean they are no longer?" Harry nodded, a frown touching his lips, "They are no longer wizards… The Dark Wizard – Grindelwald, murdered them."

* * *

Armando Dippet frowned to himself. He was not entirely sure that this was the truth. To him, it sounded considerably realistic, yet rather well-rehearsed. Too well-rehearsed in fact. It made it very likely that it was indeed the Grindelwald who sent Harry. After all, it would not be unlikely for him to make up a story that involved him being the culprit. However, if that was not the case, then he, the headmaster, would be denying an innocent boy of the safe haven. He groaned inwardly, either way, someone would suffer. But if he denied the boy's entry into Hogwarts, then Harry would be the only one who would not benefit. On the other hand, if he allowed Harry to enter, he would be risking the other students' safety…

This was the problem about being a headmaster; he thought ruefully, you had to make hard decisions. He grinned, but it held no mirth. It was not like there was very much of a decision to make. The answer was relatively simple…

**A/N: Evidently, this is my first fan-fiction :3 So I apologise if it's terrible or anything ;-; (though I obviously hope not) I'll appreciate constructive critisism or if you love it, then let me feel the love! ****This is co-written with my friend :3**

**Please tell me if there are any major mistakes/errors (:**

**-Acidic**


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stared at the headmaster, his face impassive as he tried to determine Dippet's thoughts. Dippet glanced at him and nodded his head slowly. It seemed to Harry that his gesture held a somewhat resigned feeling to it, as though he had no choice in the matter. Harry prevented a grin from breaking out on his face, and thanked the headmaster for his kindness. The shrewd headmaster still managed to catch a glimpse of an evil glint in Harry's green eyes, and he briefly wondered if accepting Harry had been a good idea, or a major mistake on his part.

Harry was attempting to rise from the comfortable armchair that he had been sitting on, when Dippet reached out an arm to stop him. "Wait," he said, "you need to be sorted." Harry opened his mouth, ready to inform him that he had already been sorted. Upon remembering that he had not yet been sorted in this period of time, he hastily shut his mouth. Old as he may be, Dippet had not missed the slip, and his eyes narrowed suitably. That boy needed watching.

Dippet gently placed the tattered sorting hat on Harry's crown. He sincerely hoped that the sorting hat would co-operate, because generally speaking, it was usually far from predictable. You could not simply assume that it was going to do exactly as you wished. In fact, there was a significant possibility that it would do the exact opposite.

"Ah, you would have great fame and glory in joining Slytherin house, but you posses the appropriate attributes for Gryffindor… Hmmm" the sorting hat mumbled to Harry, through the tear at the brim of the hat. Harry tried valiantly to clear his thoughts, and projected it to the sorting hat. He desperately needed to be placed in Slytherin. Tom Riddle was there, and it would be admittedly easier, much easier, in fact to get closer to Tom. "You wish for Slytherin? Then Slytherin it shall be!" the sorting hat exclaimed. Upon hearing this, the headmaster glanced shrewdly at Harry. So he wanted to be placed in Slytherin, where the slyest and the most cunning wished to be in. Evans could prove to be more than a little problematic for him….

* * *

"Dumbledore, please keep an eye on the new boy – Harry Evans – for me, I think that his actions are rather suspicious, to say in the least. But please, refrain from talking about this matter to anyone else but me."

Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement, showing the headmaster that he understood his sentiments. "Of course, Armando, I will do exactly that." He smiled reassuringly at the distraught headmaster. Naturally, he neglected to mention that he might not be able to fulfil his duties all the time, because he had to keep an eye on Tom Riddle as well. It was not their fault that he was "landed" with the job. They did not even know of it. In fact, if anyone were to blame for him getting the job, it would probably be himself. He recognised the other professors' reluctance to suspect Riddle of any tomfoolery, so he had taken on the job – that none of the professors knew existed – and took it upon himself to observe Tom. He knew in his heart that suave as Tom might appear to be, he was filled with greed and a longing to be unstoppable. That simply had to be stopped.

* * *

"So, Evans, what makes you come to Hogwarts at such late notice?" Slughorn questioned curiously, peering at Harry from the corners of his eyes. "I'm afraid that information is classified, Professor. Perhaps you should ask Professor Dippet instead, I'm sure he's a more suitable person to question." Harry replied smoothly, making sure that his answer held a somewhat resigned tone to it. It simply would not do for him to infuriate Slughorn, and cause Slughorn to dislike him. He was the Head of Slytherin house after all, and Harry needed to get into the Slug Club – to get closer to Tom.

Slughorn nodded his head in understanding. "Here's the common room, Evans! The password is _anguis_. If you need anything, ask Tom Riddle," Slughorn gave a hearty laugh, "he's a model student, and really excellent at potions; the list of his achievements are endless!" Harry stiffened involuntarily when he heard Tom's name, and his face darkened a bit. Bad enough for him to be mentioned by someone, but to list out his various achievements was asking for trouble. "All right, Professor. Which dormitory shall I be sleeping in?" Harry interrupted rather gruffly. Slughorn passed his brusque manner off as Harry's exhaustion. He waved his hand around vaguely, trying valiantly to recall what Dippet had mentioned to him before. Something along the lines of 'Put Harry in the same room as Tom, in case he attempts to do something suspicious.' Slughorn shrugged, there were simply too many duties he had to complete, and there definitely was not any time for him to dwell too long on Dippet's words. He probably had something in mind – a scheme, a plan; in Slughorns' opinion, Dippet tended to think too deeply, as did all the other headmasters. Thank Salazar that he would never be a suitable candidate for that particular position.

"Professor?" Harry asked, sounding bemused. "Eh? Oh, you're sharing the room with Tom. Great influence he'll have on you, careful not to cause any trouble!" Slughorn smiled benevolently at Harry, while wagging his plump finger, before turning his back on Harry and hurrying away.

"_Anguis," _Harry murmured, and the door to the common room opened marginally. He peered inside, his heart hammering against his chest for some strange reason. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. At least, that was what he told himself.

"Hey look, we've got a new kid in Slytherin. Look how old he is too!" the other kids in Slytherin cast seemingly suspicious glances at Harry, and Harry struggled to remain suave as he walked through the throng of curious Slytherins, his face an emotionless façade. He brushed their relentless questions aside, causing them to fire back with even more. Harry ignored his furious housemates, and continued on his way. "Just forget about him, he's such an _idiot_" a boy said with great resolve; as though he knew him, Harry though with great distaste.

As Harry wandered along the dimly lit corridors of the Slytherin dormitories, his head was spinning with all kinds of possible ideas on how to deal with Tom. It had to be gradual that was for sure. Otherwise, Dippet would definitely feel that something was suspicious, and try to stop him.

"Ah, here it is," Harry murmured, pushing open the door cautiously. Who knew what the psychotic lunatic behind that door would be keeping as a pet. Confirming that nothing behind that door was a potential enemy – save Tom himself – Harry stepped in.

* * *

Dumbledore sat in the headmaster's currently vacant office, studying Armando's notes on Harry's "suspicious" doings. He narrowed his eyes marginally, Tom was already a handful, but now he had to keep an eye on Harry as well. Dumbledore sighed in resignation – it was partly his fault, anyway.

The Evans boy was rather strange, but Dumbledore reckoned that he was not a spy for Grindelwald. Not any more than he was anyway. If anyone bothered to question why Dumbledore felt that way, there would not have been a straight answer. Dumbledore believed in instinct and intuition, and his told him that Harry had separate motives, whatever they may be. However, the time had not arrived for him to inform Dippet of his opinion. Dippet tended to be more on the sceptical side, and would probably not believe his words, unless he provided concrete evidence for the headmaster.

* * *

"Oh," Harry said hastily, "sorry for disturbing you." Harry backed away hurriedly, rather flustered. Tom raised an elegant eyebrow at him, and motioned for him to enter. "So you're my new roommate, huh?" Tom studied his appearance carefully. The guy did not really appear to be a Slytherin, but then, who could honestly judge just based on a person's appearance? However, Tom thought as he narrowed his eyes, this new boy had the look of someone who wanted to achieve something desperately. He should know that expression. After all, he did see it in his reflection everyday – it was a look of intense greed, and a need to accomplish their goals, not that Tom would admit it to anyone but himself. He wanted power, and he wanted it fast…

Harry nodded his head, eyes flickering over Tom's figure. He was as "handsome" as he had been in the pensieve, but honestly, once you actually knew who or _what _he was, you would never even imagine him to be anything but a relative to the devil. Tom invited him in, as warmly as he could manage, and gestured to the bed next to his. "That's yours, and you're sharing the wardrobe with me." Harry nodded, his face an emotionless mask, struggling to hide his exhaustion. He would never ever show any weakness in front of Tom. That would be suicide, probably, except Tom did not yet know that his final dream was to eradicate Harry. That was fortunate, to say in the least.

When Tom finally muttered a hurried farewell, Harry slumped down onto his soft bed and sighed in relief. The duvet felt wonderfully soft under his clothes, and he had to resist the ridiculous urge to cuddle up and fall asleep. When he completed packing his various belongings, he managed to squeeze in enough time to take a bath. The soothing water ran over his bare skin, and it felt like heaven. It had been a rough day for him, and he knew that he desired little more than to sleep.

* * *

Back in the Future…

"Albus! Albus!" Professor McGonagall said, overcome with worry. "The ministry –"

"I know"

"And Potter is –"

"I know that as well. Calm down Minerva, we need to talk" Dumbledore said gravely, the dim light in his office glinted off his half-moon spectacles. The normally benevolent-looking headmaster was currently haggard with worry, his wrinkled face looked even more so, as his brow furrowed in pure uneasiness. McGonagall involuntarily swallowed as she sat down on the comfortable velvet chair situated in Dumbledore's office.

"So, what are we to do now, Albus?" McGonagall questioned. Dumbledore shook his head, "I don't know…" Minerva stared at Dumbledore, more than a little dumbfounded. Dumbledore – the only wizard that Voldemort actually feared – was at a loss. She slumped back onto her seat, and fidgeted nervously. If it was indeed Harry who had murdered Rookwood, and destroyed all the time-turners save a precious one (which was in Harry's possession), then, had all the Gryffindor values instilled in him disappeared? She gripped the arms of the chairs with renewed force, and exclaimed loudly, "We are crafting another time-turner!"

* * *

Back to the Past...

Harry stepped out of the warm, comforting shower, and was met with a blast of cold air. He shivered from the sudden change in temperature, and grabbed a towel to protect his bare body with. He muttered incoherently to himself, and proceeded to dry off the remaining drops of water. His fresh set of clothes felt simply heavenly against his skin. He was uncertain if it was perfectly sewn clothes, or if it was merely the fact that he had experienced an exhausting day. Either way, he was rather eager to fall asleep; his eyelids were already defying his will, drooping as he plodded to his bed.

"Hey, I have a few questions for you," Tom said. "That is, if you're up to answering it of course." Tom hurriedly added the last part, upon noticing Harry's exhausted figure. Noting the change in tone, Harry hastily shook his head in reply, too hastily in fact. 'Why did I even do that?' Harry groaned inwardly. This was an epitome of a bad life choice…

**A/N: I think this was a slightly lousier than the previous chapter, sorry about that :3 And I apologise for updating it a bit late **

**Please tell me if there are any major mistakes/errors (: And review ;)**

**-Acidic**


	3. Chapter 3

"Hang on a moment…" Harry valiantly attempted to conjure up an idea to stall for time, for reasons that were unknown to him. Perhaps he wished to mentally prepare himself for an onslaught of questions that were sure to come. "Wait, I need to…" he trailed off again.

"You need to?" Tom promoted, raising an elegant eyebrow. "Pack my things! I just arrived, you know, so I would prefer that my things were packed." Harry finished hastily. A little too hastily perhaps. His excuse was truly pathetic. Trust himself to come up with an excuse that would embarrass the Gryffindor name – not that Tom knew he was in Gryffindor…

Tom rolled his eyes somewhat distastefully. What a great Slytherin his roommate would make, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Take your time," as he nodded his head, assuming a patient façade. If one listened close enough, there was a hint of underlying impatience. Harry nodded vigorously, and proceeded to open his luggage. Tom tapped his foot against the soft carpet as he waited –expressing certain impatience – for Harry to finish. Honestly, Tom thought, he could always use a wand. Not using a wand – a basic necessity for a wizard – was an obvious sign that he was stalling. Harry sighed inwardly in resignation. It was evident that Tom was fully aware of his motives. There was no point in trying to keep it up. He could not escape Tom's questions – he could tell by the mildly eager expression hidden beneath his indifferent façade.

"All right, so what is it you wish to question me about?" Harry said cautiously. Tom smirked, and his brilliant smile lit up his even features. "Well, first off, you appeared out of nowhere, and came to Hogwarts at sixteen years of age. How is that even possible, it's practically unheard of…?" Tom trailed off, as he posed the question to Harry. There was no denying what Tom wished to know.

"Well…" Harry replied, "I think that that is a question that I should not answer. Perhaps Headmaster Dippet would be a better person to fill you in." Harry shrugged, his falsely calm façade never betraying his true feelings. Why did he even want to know? Well it was not like Harry himself actually cared about Tom's motives, whatever they may be. Tom stared at him incomprehensively, and smiled, expressing false kindness. What was his game anyway? How would knowing more about Harry benefit him in any way? "Perhaps that's what I'll do." Tom replied, shrugging slightly, informing Harry that Tom bore no ill feelings towards him.

* * *

Tom was, in actuality, rather amused. They were both assuming façades to conceal their true feelings and giving the other a completely false impression of themselves. It was evident that Harry knew he was acting, despite the fact that they had only just met. Tom had figured that out based on Harry's slight changes in expression, when he noted Tom's various reactions. Still, Tom found it rather impressive that he was able to see through Tom's façade. In fact, the only other person who was constantly able to achieve that was Dumbledore himself. So it was actually an impressive feat, as though Harry knew his true nature. But that in itself was completely unfathomable. There was no way that they knew each other. Tom would have remembered Harry. He remembered everyone, especially those who had posed an obstacle between him and his goal. For instance, Tom had wished he had been a pure-blood, but his muggle parent had obliterated that possibility. And look what happened to Tom Riddle Senior. As he reminisced about the event, he unconsciously fingered the ring on his hand – the ring that had belonged to another member of his family who he had murdered after annihilating his own father. He involuntarily felt a jolt of pain in his heart. It was a pity that he had to murder one of the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin. He mentally slapped himself. He, who had worked hard to be devoid of all his emotions, it was an important skill when you aimed to become the strongest dark wizard that the wizarding world had ever known…

"Uh, so I'll be going to sleep then." Harry murmured, exhaustion settling over him. Tom grinned, and waved a smooth hand towards Harry, "Sure! I have to go for something that Slughorn has arranged though. I'll be back at around eleven o'clock." He adjusted his creased robes and headed for the door, as silent as a wraith. Harry curled up in his bed, and as soon as his head touched the soft, comfortable pillow, he was out like a light.

Tom walked briskly towards Slughorn's office, where he knew the usual Slug Club gathering would be held. He briefly wondered why the Professor had organised it so soon, it had been barely two days since the last one. But then, who could claim to know exactly how the mind of Horace Slughorn worked. He was a complicated, yet lovable man. However, he did possess certain attributes each Slytherin needed. Greed for instance, Slughorn never actually openly expressed his desire for a great many things. Through his actions, however, one could perceive that he was a "behind the scenes" kind of man. He never wished to be promoted to a wizard of high status, preferring to sit back, and allow someone else to take his place. At the same time, his handpicked group of young wizards would almost definitely grow up to be high achievers. And that, was when Slughorn would benefit.

Tom rapped his knuckles on the solid oak door sharply, and stood arms akimbo right outside, patiently waiting for Slughorn's reply. He heard a screeching sound followed by heavy footsteps lumbering towards the door.

"Ah, Tom, you've arrived" Slughorn greeted his star student with a beaming smile, radiating off his pudgy face. Tom dipped his head in respect, and entered into the office. As usual, Slughorn had packed it full of comfortable pouffes and armchairs – perfect in his opinion. Tom thought that he was always a little overboard with the luxuriously comfortable seats. He gracefully sank seated himself on a stiff-backed armchair – it was there for official purposes, otherwise, Slughorn would have gotten rid of it ages ago. He lifted up his slender legs and placed them gently onto a maroon-coloured pouffe. "Tom, why don't you sit on one of these?" Slughorn patted one of the nearby bean bags with his oversized hand. Tom declined his "generous" offer with slight shake of his head. Honestly, who would want to sit on one of those _things_ – terribly low-class. Tom shuddered at the mere notion of him lazing on one of the horrific pieces of upholstery – if you could call a bean bag one…

* * *

Back in the Future…  
"Minerva, that… simply is not possible." Dumbledore replied carefully, to an eager McGonagall. (Now that was hard to imagine). McGonagall stared incredulously at Dumbledore. It really was not like him to reject her ideas so quickly. But then again… had it really been her just gushing out nonsense? She blushed slightly, the tinge barely visible under the layers of wrinkles that covered her face. Perhaps she had not been thinking straight, but truth to be told, Minerva had honestly believed that the idea would work. _Had. _Now that Dumbledore had rejected her idea so quickly, all fantasies had been dispelled.

"Sorry Albus, I wasn't thinking straight… But then, what do we do about Potter. What is he even up to?" Minerva's voice raised a few octaves as her worry multiplied tenfold. Without a concrete plan, what could they do about Harry? Dumbledore did not reply immediately. He could not. If he comforted Minerva, and told her that Harry would be all right, he would be lying to her – and to himself. For once, Dumbledore felt truly dumbfounded. He foresaw a great many things, but Harry turning his back on Hogwarts and Gryffindor – and even turning to murder – was not one of them.

"Perhaps redeveloping a time-turner is a possibility." Dumbledore replied cautiously. "However, it will be extremely difficult, and there is always the chance that Harry would achieve what he set out to do before we are able to reach him." McGonagall straightened up in her chair, and glanced at Dumbledore. He was not spouting blasphemy was he? After all, he did just say that her idea was rather insane, and now… he was suggesting that they do it. Dumbledore was really muddling.

"Albus, are you sure?" she asked tentatively, her fingers unconsciously wrapping around the edge of the mahogany desk. "Will it work? Is it even possible?" Dumbledore allowed a small smile to grace his wrinkled features. "Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. But we wouldn't know if we don't try. It does seem like our only option." So it was true, Albus really was going bonkers, Minerva thought. Brilliant timing, just when the fate of the world was at stake. Perhaps that was too drastic, but even so, wizards were instructed to never meddle with time. If Harry was indeed doing what she suspected he was, then the history of the wizarding world was about to be obliterated. It would change the entire world.

"Err… Albus, so what do you reckon Potter is up to?" she laced her words with a falsely cheerful tone, hoping valiantly that Albus would allay her worst fears. Alas, that little bit of hope faded, when Albus shook his head desolately and replied with three simple words, "I don't know." McGonagall knew instantly that he was lying. He did not even bother to disguise it. When Dumbledore averted his gaze, Minerva knew that her suspicions were confirmed.

* * *

Back in the Past…

Approximately two hours had passed since the Slug Club gathering had begun. Its proceedings were almost entirely the same as on a regular day, but Tom knew that this was not a regular day. He was fully aware that Slughorn had arranged this particular meeting for a separate purpose. After all, it simply was not possible that he had arranged it just to share his new box of crystallised pineapples. That was a mere cover story. Of course, he never let Slughorn on to the fact that he had figured out his ploy, better to play along with it. The truth would reveal itself…

Sure enough, at eleven o'clock, Slughorn hurried the members of the Slug Club out of his office, varying his farewells between, "You had better hand in your potions essay tomorrow, or it's detention for you!" and "Better get along your way, you don't want to be caught!" This time however, it was Slughorn himself who prevented Tom from leaving.

"Tom, my boy, do you mind if you could stay here for a moment. I need to have a word with you." Of course, Tom thought. This was definitely about Evans. He plastered a fake grin on his face, and faced the Professor. "Sure."

**A/N: Sorry that this chapter took quite a while to upload, I was playing DotA :D It's slightly shorter in comparison to the previous chapters, and I think the quality has dropped a little bit. I have quite a lot of projects, so the next chapter may take a while... I'm sorry! :3**

**I hope you like it :3 Please review :D I'm fine with criticism, but it had better be constructive ;)**

**-Acidic**


	4. Chapter 4

"So Tom," Slughorn murmured distractedly, piecing together his thoughts, "What do you gather of Harry Evans?" Tom sighed inwardly. This kind of approach was typical of Slughorn. He never actually bothered to pose questions to the headmaster, rather, he preferred coming to Tom for answers, should he require any. And that did not particularly appeal to Tom.

"I have no idea, Professor. Evans directed me to the headmaster if I wished for answers," Tom replied smoothly, his face an emotionless façade as always. Slughorn nodded his head in understanding, "He told me the same thing." Then he resumed his ponderings.

"Professor? So may I take my leave?" Tom questioned, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. Slughorn nodded his head absentmindedly, haven't yet processed what Tom had said. Tom smiled winningly, and stood up, prepared to leave.

"Do you reckon Evans is hiding something?" Slughorn asked Tom, his eyes drifting towards him, awaiting the response. Tom stiffened visibly, but quickly reverted back to his regular posture.

"No," Tom said firmly, convincingly even, and hurried out. Lying was his forte, but he always found it slightly harder to lie to Professor Slughorn. Something about his nature, perhaps or the way he treated his students – especially Tom himself.

He consulted his watch sullenly. It was already midnight – around the same time that he had been sleeping for the past two weeks. Generally speaking, no one hindered him from taking a good night's rest. Rather, it was himself who was in fact, keeping himself wide awake at night, thinking, scheming, and calculating. Aspiring to become the most fearsome dark wizard that the wizarding world had ever known was a complicated dream. Currently, because Grindelwald was in power, it took slightly more to convince his dim-witted fellow Slytherins. Most aspirations like "I will become a really powerful dark wizard!" or "I'll become more powerful than Grindelwald" were met with a fit of giggles from the female population, while the males would resist a snigger or two. Not that that had ever happened to Tom. His charisma plus cunning nature allowed him to basically rule the entire Slytherin colony – not to mention the prestige that the prefect badge granted him. Everyone one – save a couple of stubborn imbeciles – practically worshipped, or at least admired Tom, even the Slytherins older than him. Even the various professors at Hogwarts – including the headmaster, Dippet – had succumbed to his handsome features and natural charismatic approaches. All except Dumbledore; he would have to be watched. Tom was relatively certain that Dumbledore was indeed spying on him one way or another. He probably saw Tom for who he really was…

"_Anguis_," Tom muttered and stepped into the dimly lit Slytherin dungeon. Aside from a couple of wizards in their seventh year in Hogwarts, the room was completely empty, and the green glow from the dungeon lamps glowed as eerily as ever, if not more. Without bothering to rap on the door, Tom pushed the door open gently, and stepped across the threshold gracefully, closing the door behind him. Shuffling could be heard from Harry's side of the room, and it stopped abruptly as soon as Tom closed the door. "It's been a little over an hour since I left the room; I thought you said you were going to sleep?" Tom questioned. More shuffling then a stifled groan, this was followed by complete silence. Evans was obviously pretending to be sleeping. How pathetic. Even if he wanted to do so, at least put a bit of effort into it… Tom chose to ignore it. There was nothing to be gained from pursuing the subject any further. A couple of seconds later, a soft thud could be heard coming from Tom's area as his clothes fell onto the carpeted floor. Tom folded his wizarding robes neatly, placing them at the edge of his bed. He sighed, completely exhausted, but unable to sleep all the same. Insomnia perhaps. Tossing had little or no effect, so he chose to lie still, hoping in vain that that would cause him to fall asleep. A little away from him, Harry himself was unable to fall asleep. Though his eyes drooped considerably, it would not shut for an extended period of time. He would sense that his roommate was still awake, perhaps suffering the same way as he was. He sighed inwardly; it was going to be a long night…

* * *

The tiniest bit of sunlight shone through the crack where the curtains met. Harry bolted upright, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. The gasped for air, flailing wildly, uncontrollably. He touched his lightning-shaped scar gently, caressing it, while moaning softly, rocking back and forth. Who ever knew that his scar would still hurt? He had assumed that being back in the past meant that he would be free from Voldemort's curse, and the pain that it caused him. Apparently not. He briefly wondered if the presence f Tom Riddle, Voldemort himself, attributed to the pain as well. He lay back onto the bed, attempting to force himself to fall asleep, all the time being observed carefully by Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Tom had not actually noticed Harry's scar earlier, probably because of his shock of wild hair that perfectly covered his forehead – and his scar. Of course, he would never admit that verbally, no matter how much truth it held. He pondered for a second, what if the scar had purposely been hidden from sight? Well, it could have just been because he did not want people to ask questions, but maybe that in itself was the crux of the problem...

* * *

Harry smiled gently as he listened to Slughorn teach the class what he already knew. Tom was sitting directly next to him, for reasons unknown. Perhaps he was trying to make Harry his friend, but that was highly unlikely. Whoever heard of Tom Riddle genuinely trying to make a friend? In this time, he actually liked potions, perhaps it was because Slughorn was his teacher, and not Snape. Not hearing the phrase "ten points from Gryffindor" was rather gratifying. Well, it was not like it mattered if they actually deducted ten points from Gryffindor, he was no longer in that house anyway. He gritted his teeth, as he tried valiantly to measure the correct amounts of snake fangs he had to add. Just because he had already studied this in Professor Snape's class, did not mean that he was any better at potions. After the lesson, he concluded that Slughorn was not much better at teaching him potions than Snape was, even if he was nicer.

"Your potions aren't very good." It was not so much of a question as it was a statement. Cringing slightly as he turned towards the voice, Harry growled inwardly. It was bad enough that he had to recognise his lack of potions sense, but for someone else to point it out… that was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"Tom," I intoned, resisting the urge to glare at him. _Be friendly, be friendly, _Harry chanted in his head. "I was never good at potions, but I'm not as bad at Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry completed. Tom nodded slowly, raising an elegant eyebrow. How on earth did he know he was good at Defence Against the Dark Arts if Potions had been his very first class? But his face, devoid of emotion as always, showed no signs of him being suspicious of Evans' words. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he graciously led Harry towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hoping that they would do something a bit more advanced. That would make Harry have to reveal something, that is, _if he did posses any skill at all_, Tom thought disdainfully, casting a fleeting glance over at Evans. He had a somewhat dumb smile spread across his features, as though acknowledging that this place held some sort of sentimental value to him. Then it was gone, replaced by Evans' perpetual scowl. Sentimental value? Tom scoffed at his own vivid imagination. Evans claimed that he had never had a magical education before. Yet, there was something suspicious about him, something that Tom could not quite place. Firstly, there was the matter of his scar. If he was not mistaken, it was in the shape of a lightning bolt. The shape itself was peculiar and highly unnatural. Additionally, what he said just now did not quite add up. It was as though he had been saying it for the past six to seven years, which was not quite possible… Or was it? Perhaps he was over thinking things; people did tend to say that he thought far too much. However, Tom was not known to be wrong. Should he combine both of those factors, it would leave him clueless – something he had not quite experienced before – and he would be in the midst of the same problem as before.

* * *

"Good job, Mr. Evans," commented the teacher, after he had finished demonstrating his skill for the teacher to observe.

"Your Patronus charm isn't half bad," Tom murmured to Harry, when he returned to his seat. Once again, Tom had chosen to sit right next to him, for reasons unknown. "Where did you learn how to do it from?" he questioned, glancing at Harry through the corner of his eye.

"Huh? Well… I, um…" stuttering slightly, Harry hurriedly fabricated a story, "I learned it from my… parents! Yes, because they were afraid of dementors." Tom nodded his head slowly, contemplating whether to probe further or not. Harry swallowed a bit, and his face failed to assume its usual sullen expression. _Amateur, _thought Tom. That was obviously a lie; Evans could afford to do much better.

"Oh, I see," Tom replied nonchalantly, as though he did not just witness Harry's pathetic attempt at a lie. Even if he had been caught off guard, a truly good liar would be able concoct a fake story without even batting an eyelid, and then recite it out loud in the same fashion. Of course, he knew that from personal experience, and he was willing to bet that no one in the entire school of Hogwarts had the same amount of practice as he had at the art of lying.

* * *

Harry turned away, seemingly relieved that Tom had found nothing wrong or suspicious with his reply.

Repeatedly tapping his fingers on the table at a fixed rhythm, he pondered silently at Tom's failure to detect his lie. Along with the general confidence that he exuded, Tom also happened to be awfully sharp, able to spot things that few others could. At least, that was what Dumbledore had shown him in the pensieve… Even so, he was sure that anyone would have recognised that he was lying a mile away; all because he was caught off guard. He sighed inwardly, stealing a quick glance at the weary-looking Tom. He would have to improve if he intended to pull the wool over Tom's eyes…

**A/N: Sorry for updating it so late *O* I got kind of tired of it, and I'm considering dropping it entirely. Additionally, I had a couple more projects, but I suppose I shouldn't make excuses :3 ****Hope you liked the chapter! ****Please review :D **

**-Acidic**


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